Homer's 4th Child
by Lissette. that's it
Summary: Well, my story shall now be posted again thanks to Briar editing the "right" way. But no thanks to ff.net. they took off my story but, they can't silence me! WORLD DOMINATION! MUAHAHAHHAHA! Sorry, I sorta lost the moment but please r and r!


(Disclaimer: I don't own the Simpsons. What do I look like, Matt Groening?)  
  
It all started when Homer was asleep...in bed, not on the couch for a change.  
"Homer wake up, you're gonna be late for work!" Marge shouted, yanking the covers off him.  
  
"AHH! If I'm late one more time I'm gonna be fired!!" Homer yelled, snapping awake and searching the night table. "I need to find my car keys. Oh where did I put them! Where did I put them?" He stopped and thought a moment. "Bart!"  
  
On cue, Bart walked in with a particularly guilty look on his face. Reluctantly, he responded, "Yeah dad…?"  
  
"Where did you put my keys?" Homer demanded. "You said you were gonna use them for the sole purpose of carving "Flanders Sucks" on his front door."  
  
"Well, actually..." Bart hesitated before going on. "I used to them to drive your car…"  
  
"YOU DID WHAT?" Homer gaped, then recovered himself. "Well, give me my keys! I'll deal with your punishment later."  
  
Bart gulped and handed the keys over. "Well, here are your keys…"  
  
"Now where did you park the car?" Homer asked warningly.  
  
Bart's eyes shifted to the side uneasily. "Well...I sorta kinda crashed it…"  
  
"WHAT!" Homer choked, then looked to his beside clock. "Oh, no time to choke the boy, I must run to work! Aw, but I hate running! Hmm… I'll just 'borrow' Flanders' car...d'oh I just remembered he went to Canada because I wrote him a letter from God to him… hehehe stupid Flanders, aw I still have to run to work… stupid Bart… stupid Flanders…" Muttering to himself all the way, Homer ran for an hour before he reached work. Concerned he might have lost a dangerous amount of calories after such exertion, he crammed a donut in his mouth before taking his place, hoping no one would notice.  
  
"Phew, that was a close one," Homer panted, wiping the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. Mr. Burns and Smithers strode by his cubicle at that moment.  
  
"Smithers, who is that fat bald man over there?" Mr. Burns questioned, ratty eyes switching. Smithers craned his neck in Homer's direction.  
  
"That's Homer Simpson sir, he's been late for over 27 times in the past month," he informed in his usual drone.  
  
"27 times?" Burns rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Well, I don't know him but fire him anyway." Obediently, Smither leaned into Homer's station and said, "Simpson you're fired." Homer dropped his fourth donut at this, having previously been unaware of the conversation, then dropped to his knees after it and clasped his hands together pleadingly.  
  
"Please don't fire me… I promise I'll never be late again," Homer begged.  
  
"Simpson, your promises mean nothing to me, now get out before I rip out your hair!" Mr. Burns snarled.  
  
"Not if I rip them out first!" Homer laughed insanely, ripping out his last two strands of hair, then quickly realizing what he'd just done. "D'oh!"  
  
Later...  
  
"Aw, Marge," Homer sighed when at least he got home, flopping down in his favorite chair with a six-pack of Duff beer by his side, "I just got fired because Bart crashed the car, which caused me to be late for work, and I accidentally ripped out my last two strands of hair. Well, at least things can't get worse..." He popped open a Duff and drank it down.  
  
"Homer, we're going to have a new baby," Marge said at last. Homer gagged and spat out his beverage.  
  
"NO! NO! NO!" he cried, staring straight at his wife in disbelief. "It can't be, maybe you're just getting wider by your sides, I mean you did eat that 10 pound steak last night..."  
  
"Homer, that was you."  
  
"Damn straight."  
  
"HOMER!" Marge scolded irritably. "We are going to have a new baby, like it or not!"  
  
"Well, I don't like it," Homer answered bluntly. "How about we just hand it to Apu, I mean he does have eight kids, one more wouldn't hurt."  
  
"Homer, we only have three and now it's going to be four."  
  
"Can't it just be three? I mean three is the best number, like those three cupcakes that come in those Hostess packs and, uh, well that's pretty much it."  
  
"What do you want me to do, have an abortion?"  
  
"Hehe of course not, just hand it over to Apu."  
  
"Don't call our child an 'it'!"  
  
"Well what about Cousin It, he doesn't get offended!"  
  
"Are you implying that our child is going to come out hairy?"  
  
"Well it's from your side of the family, like Patty and Selma...ew." He shuddered to punctuate his point.  
  
"Mmm!" Margre grumbled crossly.  
  
"Ha, nice job Homer, you now have to work double shift," Bart grinned, coming into the room. "You should've used Trojan condoms."  
  
"I used the ones in your room," Homer replied, not bothering to wonder why a ten-year-old would be in possession of condoms in the first place.  
  
"That wasn't a condom, that was plastic wrap that I punched holes in," Bart scoffed, which solved the unposed mystery.  
  
"Why you little..." Homer snarled, seizing Bart by the neck and throttling him.  
"Dad, how ARE you gonna pay for the new baby?" Lisa asked, walking in as well with a concerned expression. "Since you lost your job and all..."  
  
"Hmm… what if I SELL the baby to Apu…" Homer mused aloud, dropping a bluish Bart.  
  
"Homer, we're keeping the baby!" Marge snapped, then looked worried. "Oh, but what are we going to do? I mean, you lost your job and we need money more than ever, especially since we're expecting a new baby..."  
  
"I got it!" Homer cried, leaping triumphantly to his feet. "I'll run for president! I can beat Bush since everyone hates him… lousy Bush…"  
  
"What about Kerry?" Bart rasped, rubbing his sore throat.  
  
"Bart, stop destroying Daddy's hopes and dreams," Homer instructed gently.  
  
To Be Continued... 


End file.
